ReadyMade: Instructions for everyday life

My weekly experiment of avoiding trash came to a close somewhat successfully. Sure, I ended up with garbage on the last day, but I also had a bunch of eye-opening experiences that have influenced how I think about my own consumption and to be more aware of my wastefulness in the future.

But I can’t just credit myself in my transformation. In addition to swearing off the trashcan, this week I’ve been reading Garbage Land: On the Secret Trail of Trash by journalist Elizabeth Royte.

Royte starts the book off on the statistic I mentioned on Day 1—that the Environmental Protection Agency claims the average American chucks out 4.4 pounds of trash a day. Unconvinced she could be a part of this waste-producing pandemic, Royte sifts through her trash, takes inventory, and weighs her garbage to discover she is part of the problem. From there, the author is on a mission to follow her garbage from her trashcan to the landfill. She rides along on the early bird shift with her neighborhood “san man.” She repeatedly attempts to get into the landfill, but, unlike me, isn’t greeted too warmly at her local dump in New York. She actually never even gets in the gates.

Albeit a tad disgusting at times (luckily my Week Without didn’t consist of maggots and used condoms), Royte’s book is a must-read. Think of it as the Fast Food Nation of garbage. The author’s experiment to follow her own trash leads to insightful discussions of overconsumption and capitalism in America. She presses the reader to challenge his or her own notion of “out of sight, out of mind” and to explore what really happens to trash once we’ve thrown it in the bin.

It appears my predictions yesterday were right.

The last day of my Week Without has finally come, and my turkey sandwich-making ways have caught up to me. The cheese ran out, leaving me with a useless sealable bag. The turkey was gobbled up, and now I have a plastic container. The milk did run out, just as I thought it would. And now instead of my mini trash pile I had earlier this week, I have this (disregard the pole-dancer coasters):

This week I attempted to live without garbage. As I explained on Day 1, I thought I was being good to the earth by recycling and not being too wasteful. But the fact is I still produce garbage as a result of the things I consume. And I can’t deny the fact that throwing my trash in the Dumpster makes me feel as if a weight is lifted off of my shoulders. How gross would you feel if you kept all of your trash?

I thought I was good to the earth. And this week I learned I was good to the earth only when it was convenient for me. Or, at least, when I was really aware of my actions and their consequences for the planet. I’ve been conditioned to be aware that certain actions have negative consequences for the earth, and I can alleviate these consequences by altering my actions. (We can have the whole can-one-person-make-a-difference-debate at this point, but I think that’s the worst excuse ever to not be a better person.) My mom taught me not to litter. Captain Planet told me to recycle. Living in Australia during a drought made me aware of my shower time. Magazine articles and news segments have frightened me to the point where I hiss at the sight of plastic water bottles.

But no one ever told me not to throw away garbage. (more…)

My Week Without experiment is soon to end. Read about my adventures with Ziploc bags, lunchboxes, and cellulite-removing coffee grounds, or just find out what I’m up to here.

For the past five days, I’ve monitored my every move so I don’t wind up with garbage. (Success? Questionable. I have a Ziploc bag that’s starting to get grungy, a gum wrapper, a plastic tuna cup, and a paper towel I’m convinced will be reused sometime soon.) This afternoon, I headed to the joint that makes my trash-binge look like a min-pin in a land of T-Rexes.

Oh yes. I’m talking about the Des Moines landfill.

After debating turning around because I thought I might end up in Kansas, I finally made it to the Metro Waste Authority’s (MWA) landfill for my appointment with Amy Hock, the company’s PR specialist. Hock was nice enough to give me a lovely landfill tour in a snazzy work truck I almost killed myself getting into (wedges were a horrible choice).

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Don’t judge me! My garbage-filled refrigerator.

The end of my no-trash experiment is in sight. But so is the food in my fridge. Although I’ve been doing my best to avoid trash this week (other than that Time We Shall Not Mention), I’ve still been eating pretty normally—cereal for breakfast, a sandwich for lunch, and meat and veggies or a salad for dinner. And as I decided on the first day, I’ve stayed true to my word and haven’t gone out to eat this week. Okay, so when I said I’ve been eating normally, I meant I’ve been eating boringly.

I still feel it coming—the bread will run out, the milk will too, and I’ll be stuck with a load of garbage to tote around town. (more…)

My garbage-free life went spiraling out of control this morning when I spilled my coffee. I kept my promise and carried around the trash I ended up with that includes a paper towel, a plastic tuna cup, and a plastic baggie with me at school today. Of course my classmates inquired about my newly beloved bag of trash. And telling them about my no-garbage experiment led to a couple of interesting questions:

Girl in my journalism class: Does toilet paper count?
My answer: No, I’m not that cool. (See Day 1)

Other girl in my j-class: I don’t think I’m wasteful. How much were you throwing out before?
My answer: Not much—maybe a plastic-grocery sized bag twice a week between my boyfriend and me. And I don’t think you know how wasteful you are until you’re aware that with every single move you make, trash might come out of it.

Guy in my psych class: Do garbage disposals count?
My answer: Good question, guy in my psych class. I haven’t thought about it yet.
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I’m attempting to live this week without throwing away garbage. Why? Find out here.

It’s Day 3 of my no-throwing-things-away experiment, and other than the Ziploc bag I’ve been rinsing and reusing for the infamous on-the-go turkey sandwiches, I have yet to hoard any trash.

Until now.

The beginning of the week is always whacky for me. I manage to have little to no time to rest, let alone devise creative ways to eat what I want without ending up with a bag of trash that I’ve vowed to carry around with me all week. So let me be honest about my experiment thus far: I’ve not only been avoiding trash, I’ve been avoiding everything.

On any other given day of my garbage-filled life, I alleviate my oral fixation by chewing gum constantly. I eat protein bars. I go through a million Post-It notes, scribbling To-Dos and other reminders. It’s not just Q-Tips I’ve been avoiding in the bathroom—I haven’t been flossing, removing my chipped fingernail polish with cotton swabs, or blowing my nose. (It’s a good thing I don’t have a cold this week.)

Everything is garbage!
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In my last post, I told you how I got jealous of a girl in my class that had a perfectly packed lunch that was trash-free, unlike mine. Later that day, I scoured the web to see what clever containers I could find to pack my future on-the-go meals. Among the cartoon-clad lunchboxes and uber-construction guy steel pails, I found some gems you should look into if you’re looking to cut down waste.

This Light My Fire lunchbox is available on Amazon and comes in eight different colors. Made from environmentally friendly plastic (which sounds like an oxymoron), this box is slim, microwavable, and it even floats, if you’re into that kind of thing. I like this one because I can just slip it in my tote. And sporks are awesome.

More lunchboxes after the jump. (more…)

Today I found myself jealous of a girl in one of my classes.

No, it wasn’t because of her looks, her handbag, or her boyfriend.

I was jealous of her lunchbox.

After living only a couple days without trash, I found myself already stuck with a plastic baggie keepsake from my I’m-too-lazy-to-look-for-a-sandwich-box mood on Sunday. And now I’m practically gawking at this girl’s perfectly packed lunchbox and thinking, I bet she never throws things away…

Organized neatly in a comic book Batman lunchbox, she has packed her whole lunch in cute, little reusable containers. She has one for her meat-free sandwich, one for her dried cranberries, one for her almonds. Part of me thought it was laughable because it looks like she snagged her lunch from the elementary school down the street. But the other much less cunning part of me knows this girl is making the effort to eliminate waste part of her routine, rather than considering it a major inconvenience as I did yesterday. And I’m envious of that.
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My “I’m-destroying-the-planet” guilt has led me to try to live a week without trash. Check out why I’m refusing to throw things away.

When I first decided to go a week without garbage, I thought I’d be prepared. I had dreams of purchasing a container for my on-the-go sandwiches, loading up on unwrapped groceries at the Des Moines Farmer’s Market, and discovering a reusable alternative for Q-Tips.

That was wishful thinking.

This week started in a frenzy, and before I had time to consider my options I was making my daily turkey sandwich and stuffing it in a Ziploc bag before scurrying to class Monday morning. I worked on homework and vegged out with my boyfriend Erich on Sunday. Running around town in search for a sandwich box was on my “Not Right Now, Maybe Later” list, unfortunately. We had just bought groceries the day before, so trash wasn’t a major concern at that point. (more…)

I’d like to think I’m good to the earth.

I recycle and ride my bright blue bike everywhere. I bring canvas totes to the grocery store and have a strange attachment to my stainless steel water bottle. I hit the lights when I leave my place, unplug electronics when I’m not using them, and don’t take hour-long showers.

Despite my efforts, I feel guilty. The reason? I love throwing things away.

It’s hard to admit. Not only does that confession make me out to be a person with OCD (on top of a creep who’s obsessed with her liquid-toting container), it also makes me out to be a person who doesn’t care about our planet. After all, I know where that garbage is going.

Okay, so I don’t know exactly where it’s going, but I have a pretty solid idea. And it conjures images of socioeconomically disadvantaged areas, smelly manmade hills that conceal our rejected manmade stuff with a layer of grass, and possibly the moon.

Throwing things away, though—it just feels nice. Like all this crap that was once in your life is suddenly gone and you don’t have to worry about it anymore. You feel clean, pure. Chucking your trash in the dumpster is the ultimate purge. And besides that holy feeling of literally removing the junk from your life, we aren’t required to give garbage a second thought. Someone else takes it away.
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